i put my hand outside the passenger window and the blazing mid-december florida air gently caresses the inbetweens of my fingers. winter is usually kinder than the summer, usually. . . but for now, for this instant, even though it isn't kind, and the oral neglect i've inflicted upon the cigarette on my lips has caused me to burn an ugly hole through the dress pants i've been wearing since middle school, and my faith in god is almost as terrible as my faith in my self, and everything else, even though. . . i've come so far as to finally permit just this kindness to myself.
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